


too close to the stars

by deersnout



Series: haikyuu songfics [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji Needs a Hug, Akaashi Keiji-centric, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, First Crush, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Insecurity, Love at First Sight, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Bokuto Koutarou, One-Sided Attraction, POV Akaashi Keiji, Panic Attacks, Pining, Pining Akaashi Keiji, Possibly Unrequited Love, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Songfic, Teen Angst, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23645734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deersnout/pseuds/deersnout
Summary: “...The idle fleeting thought that he was a star crossed my mind.”Stars were made to shine from many miles away, meant to be seen only as a mere glimmer to the human eye— despite their immense size. They are beguiling, but like all beautiful sights, are not meant to be touched.And yet, despite Akaashi Keiji’s usually level-headed demeanor, common sense seemed to disappear from the table as soon as he had fixed his eyes uponhim. Quickly realizing that this certain ‘star’ named Bokuto Koutarou is impossible to turn away from, Akaashi is lured dangerously close into his gravitational orbit, and the setter must remind himself to keep his distance… or risk getting burned.or,In which Akaashi falls first... but it's complicated, and feelings hurt.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou
Series: haikyuu songfics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1702306
Comments: 16
Kudos: 59





	1. falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "Reflections" by The Neighbourhood.
> 
> This fic will be part of a new series I'd like to begin on the side, where I take inspiration from music and maybe incorporate the lyrics into a fic idea. lmk in the comments if i should do some songfics for other fandoms! leave any thoughts in the comments, even if it's just a keysmash cuz seeing comments in my inbox really makes my day! <3

> “...The idle fleeting thought that he was a **star** crossed my mind.”

This was a year ago, when Akaashi had watched a match featuring Fukurodani’s boys volleyball team for the first time, and his eyes had been drawn to the movement of a spectacular being. He was enthralling, and young Akaashi couldn’t look away.

He learned that day that this being’s name was Bokuto Koutarou.

_I never knew somebody like you._

The setter quickly finds out that this brilliant specimen of a man is anything _but_ brilliant— intelligently speaking, that is. Despite his unmatched passion for just about everything he does, and despite his overwhelming athletic talent and technical in-game precision, his mind is rather… _simple._ Reading him is an easy task, to put it lightly. If Bokuto is not over-exaggerating what he feels, then nine times out of ten his expression alone gives away whatever he’s feeling beneath the surface. It doesn’t take long for Akaashi to figure him out.

Or, at least, he _thinks_ he has Bokuto figured out. There’s always the rare occasion when the ace will do something completely out of the ordinary, even for him, and it’ll throw Akaashi for a bit of a loop as he tries to dissect where the behavior arose from.

For example: after merely one week of knowing one another, the wing spiker had basically told Akaashi his whole life story, and this had been fine, because Akaashi had had a feeling that Bokuto was the over-sharing talkative type anyway. But then, that Friday during practice, Bokuto had spiraled into a particularly rough phase of frustration. He’d been so dejected that he didn’t even accept a bite of Komi’s snack when it was offered to him during their first break. The other second-years were trying to cheer up their classmate any way they could, implementing their usual tactics: jokes, dog pictures, food, videos of babies laughing, videos of babies laughing at dogs… and nothing had worked. The team had begun to look a little helpless, unsure of what to do with such a down-in-the-dumps Bokuto. So, Akaashi figured he’d might as well try his luck too.

“Bokuto-san,” he had said, voice a bit softer than normal— if that was even possible for him. “Please cheer up. You are… quite talented. Your spikes are spectacular. And... I am not just telling you this for the sole purpose of boosting your morale, but… we’re counting on you.”

His words had been truthful, too. Akaashi doesn’t sugar-coat things or stretch them out of proportion just for some type of in-the-moment advantage. Though giving compliments without being prompted to do so… Well, that’s rare for him.

Nevertheless, Bokuto seemed to be deeply affected by his words. Akaashi remembers the moment very clearly: he had slowly raised his head from his hands, staring up at his underclassman with wide, bewildered eyes, as if he hadn’t believed that those honest words of praise had come from the team’s quiet (and brutally honest) setter. His big owl eyes had blinked once, twice, and then three times in quick succession as realization dawned on him. A huge grin lit up the spiker’s face as he sprung up to his feet, engulfing Akaashi in probably the most violent hug he’d ever experienced— though he knows that the intention of it was quite the opposite.

“Aw, you really mean that, Akaashi?!”

“Y-yesh, Bok’to-shan.” He mutters, voice muffled because his face was being pressed into a certain owl’s broad shoulder.

Bokuto’s next words still have an effect on him, even now, as he replays this memory in his mind: “you’re, like— the bestest friend ever, Akaashi! I love you, man!”

...Perhaps if the words hadn’t taken the setter by such surprise, he would have remembered to remind Bokuto that “bestest” is _technically_ not a word, as it is not grammatically accurate. Yet that one three-worded phrase, said with such carelessness and thrown around by many without a second thought, had sent Akaashi into shock for a good ten seconds, because no one had ever really _told_ Akaashi that before. His parents were, more or less, the exception, of course; because family members are pretty much required to love their kin.

The first-year could hear his teammates around him laughing as they told Bokuto that he was going to squeeze the life out of their setter (which wasn’t totally an exaggeration, because Akaashi kind of felt like he was about to die right then and there in Bokuto’s thick-as-hell arms). He can’t recall their exact words now, because in that moment, all he could focus on was how heavy his heartbeat was, thrumming loudly in his chest as a warm blush snuck up his neck and heated his cheeks. Akaashi had to take a deep breath to calm his emotions, because they were _certainly_ going unchecked.

...He remembers that Bokuto smelled like cologne and sweat and fabric softener.

_Falling just as hard._

Bokuto is a star. He has been since day one.

Here’s the thing about stars: they’re astonishingly magnificent from _afar._ They hang in the vast ebony ocean of space, thousands of lightyears away, glittering and winking at the ant-sized humans roaming the Earth below. Very few have seen a star up close, as the rare experience has its inherent dangers: their emitted light is incredibly overwhelming, whiting out one’s peripheral vision and leaving them blind to the rest of their surroundings. Equally, their radiated thermal energy is just as intense, raising surrounding temperatures by thousands of degrees. These conditions are not ideal for the average man.

So, in essence, stars were made to shine from many miles away, meant to be seen only as a mere glimmer to the human eye— despite their immense size. They are beguiling, but like all beautiful masterpieces, are not meant to be touched.

And, well… lately Akaashi has been forgetting this sensible rule. He should have known not to mess with something that already seemed too perfect to be totally true.

Rising stars, like Bokuto, shine independently, and those who get too close and attempt to intervene in the blinding spotlight must suffer the consequences. Bokuto isn’t _bullying_ others into steering clear of him, of course, but whether he realizes it or not, he’s become so well-known that people don’t dare approach his territory. Besides, no two adjacent stars shine completely on their own. Rather, the close proximity forces a gravitational battle of endless orbiting, a war only won when one star tires out and collapses in on itself in a dramatic, explosive death. No one wants to start a useless spotlight-war with Fukurodani’s ace. In a way, stars are selfish. And much too obnoxious.

The fact of the matter is this: ultimately, Akaashi cannot compete with the sheer magnitude that is Bokuto (not that he wants to _compete_ with him, though). Only a select few can rival his reputation, both in volleyball and personality. The second-year feels as though he has no right to exist on the same court as the legendary ace, and he knows he is not the only one who dwells in Bokuto’s shadow of fame like this. Which, actually, Akaashi doesn’t quite mind. He’s never really been keen on attention or high praise anyway. He is Bokuto’s opposite— his foil. Akaashi knows this fact and he is content with it.

Still, this doesn’t halt the pangs of unworthiness that bubble up in the setter’s chest whenever he’s alone, with no Bokuto, no distractions; save for the ones that conjure in his restless mind. Akaashi likes being alone because he’s an introvert, not unlike Nekoma’s Kenma, but there’s just something about being _completely_ by himself with only negative thoughts to keep him company that makes him feel particularly vulnerable. The insecurities and emotions that he so desperately forces behind his expressionless facade crawl back up from where they’ve been shoved, and scratch underneath his skin until he’s overcome with a sense of helplessness and despair.

Akaashi’s parents rarely talk about mental health, so the boy has never mentioned anything to them about the sleepless nights spent trembling and overthinking various aspects of his existence as, at last, he allows tears to escape his mask. He figures it’s better for both parties if they’re unaware anyway. Nevertheless, his life isn’t hopeless. There’s Bokuto in it, after all, and often just his nearby presence alone serves to ease the anxiety vibrating in Akaashi’s bones.

“Akaashi!”

Ah, speak of the horned-owl devil.

“Good morning, Bokuto-san,” he greets, voice about ten levels quieter than the spiker’s.

The older man grins, and without warning— as usual— wraps his strong arms around Akaashi’s torso in a bone-crushing, feet-lifted-off-the-floor kind of hug. The setter feels a warm gush of butterflies explode in his stomach, and he has to bite his lip to suppress his giddy grin. He’d been looking forward to seeing the third-year all morning and, frankly, all night as well, because he hadn’t been able to sleep much.

Bokuto sets the younger down, and Akaashi smoothes out his practice uniform with a forced sigh. “You didn’t have sugar for breakfast, did you?”

The ace’s eyes dilate a little as he ponders this. “I had cereal. Does that have sugar in it?” He replies, sarcasm absent from his tone because he genuinely is _that_ unaware.

“Most likely, yes.” Akaashi considers reminding him to read the ingredients of what he eats before he just shovels spoonfuls of it into his mouth, but he holds it back. That might come off as _too_ caring. Besides, it’s not like Bokuto— or his insatiable appetite— has the patience to do that anyway.

The Fukurodani volleyball team begins their stretching routine, splitting off into pairs. Naturally, Bokuto declares that Akaashi is his stretching partner, and they both settle on the gym floor. The excitable third-year helps push against Akaashi’s back so that his slender fingers can grip the toes of his court shoes. He hopes that Bokuto can’t feel the reaction of his heartbeat, which has spiked to an insanely rapid pace, at just the simple press of the ace’s comforting hands on his back. Akaashi considers lying and complaining that his muscles didn’t quite get to stretch properly, because he knows that Bokuto will enthusiastically agree to just help him stretch again… and again… and maybe another time, too. It’s ironic, considering Bokuto is a year older, yet he adores Akaashi as if _he_ was the upperclassman instead.

They move onto different stretches, and Akaashi can’t ignore the lingering, ghostly feeling of Bokuto’s warm touch leaving his skin.

The rest of practice goes smoothly— or, well, as smoothly as possible, given the team at hand. Bokuto doesn’t fall into his emo-mode, though, so that’s some progress, Akaashi thinks.

After practice, the boring school day goes on. Classes are uneventful at best, as one would expect.

And then Akaashi is home. A dull sense of dread settles over his sternum as he enters, toeing off his shoes and heaving a sigh with the goal of alleviating some of the uncomfortable darkness from his chest. It doesn’t help much.

“I’m home,” he mutters, though no one is there to hear him. 

His parents are at work, he doesn’t have any siblings, and his mum despises animals, so they don’t own any pets. For such a small family, their house is exceptionally large, with elevated ceilings, modernized light fixtures, and minimalist decorations that makes the residence feel empty and cold. Visitors never comment on the lack of family photos— his parents basically cut themselves off from their kin just after Akaashi was born, claiming that they had been “trying to do their parenting job for them” (in all honesty, they had likely just been giving helpful advice that other new parents would be grateful for— though Akaashi has never gained the courage to ask why he only sees his extended family members once every two years, so the situation is all still so unknown to him). His home doesn’t feel homey at all, and Akaashi has always been uncomfortably put-off about this place; but it abides to his parents’ boringly modern tastes, and he isn’t allowed to complain when he is given such “luxury”.

The only location in this white-walled, perfectly clean hell-hole that makes Akaashi at least a _little_ more comfortable in his own skin, is his room. Posters are forbidden, because his mum claims that thumb-tacks and pins leave tawdry holes in the wall (even though they’re barely visible), and that tape will ruin the paint. So the disgusting bright walls are painfully bare.

But at least his bed is nice. The navy blue comforter is the only apparent dark-colored item in this damn house, and Akaashi sort of feels a sense of safety when he’s wrapped up in it, because the only thing in the house that doesn’t fit in with the rest of the decor fits in perfectly with Akaashi. He is like the comforter, in a way: out of place, subtly standing out just enough so that others seem to notice something wrongly amiss about his parents’ only son. Something so slightly off-putting that people usually steer clear of his parents if and when he is present with them.

The setter is exhausted, mentally more than physically. He checks the time and realizes that he’s got a few hours until his parents come home, so he can afford a quick nap before he begins his homework. He shuffles his music playlist and buries himself beneath the aforementioned comforter. Sleep comes easily.

* * *

“Akaashi Keiji!”

The shrill voice of his mother startles Akaashi awake. She’s home _already?_ Fuck, he hadn’t meant to sleep so long… if she’s home, then that means it’s already past 6pm, and if she comes up here and realizes he hasn’t started his homework, he’ll be in deep trouble.

Scrambling up to grab his schoolwork, he checks the time to get an approximate idea of when his dad will be home— and that’s when he realizes it’s way too early for his mum to even _be_ here. She usually gets back at around 6 every evening to start cooking dinner. It’s only 4 o’clock.

Confused, he gets out of bed and fixes his slight bedhead before changing his now-wrinkled shirt. He circles down the spiraling staircase and trudges into the kitchen.

“Yes?”

His mother whirls around, facial features softening as she sees him. “Hi, dear. I know I’m home early, but…” Her voice trails off. The soft expression falls. Akaashi’s stomach sinks at the sight. “I lost my job today, Keiji. They were laying people off, and I suppose I just happened to be one of the unlucky ones.” She gives a weak, sad excuse of a comforting smile.

Akaashi is taken aback, because his mother has always been emotionless, good at keeping her emotions at bay for the sake of portraying a put-together professional front. He doesn’t recall the last time he’d seen genuine unbridled misery in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi replies slowly, and unlike most of what he says to his parents, he means this.

But the moment ends just as quickly as it had begun. His mother sighs, and when she opens her eyes again, they portray their usual unreadable exterior as her lips purse into a tense line.

“Listen, dear; I know that we push you to put your studies first before anything else, but if I cannot find another job in the next week, I am going to need you to step up and start working to provide for this family. My good friend— the one who lives closer to the uptown area, with the pretty daughter about your age— she owns a fabulous European-style restaurant that is currently looking for part-time employees. I will contact her and see if she has any positions open for you.” She smiles, and it’s horribly fake. “How perfect for you, right? A friend of ours is able to watch over you while you work!”

Akaashi kind of wants to puke. He had hoped that getting a job meant distancing himself a bit more from his parents, but of course, his mother has everything planned out so that she can have her eyes and ears on him at all times. But he would rather suffer like this than risk arguing with his mother’s decisions, as the consequences for _that_ far outweigh the negativity of working under the suffocating pressure of his mother’s shadow.

“Yes. Thank you, mother.” He states politely, voice returning to the monotonous register that usually accompanies him when he is home. His parents are emotionless with him, so it is only fair for him to return the act.

Despite the fact that his mother had said that she’d get Akaashi a job _after_ she searched for one for herself, he gets a text from her the next day telling him that he will work weekends and every other weekday evening, starting this Saturday. Great. And to top it all off, Akaashi knows that the woman will probably stay unemployed for some time, playing the “you don’t know what I’m going through so you can’t put blame on me” card to victimize herself and throw the guilt back in the face of whoever has pointed out her bullshit.

He’s pretty bummed about having to suddenly start working a part-time job on such short notice. And even though Bokuto isn’t the keenest when it comes to reading others, he picks up on Akaashi’s bad energy as soon as he comes into the gym for their once-a-week after school practice.

“Hey hey, Akaashi!” Bokuto greets, pausing when he gets closer to the younger and lowering his voice (yes, it _is_ possible for _the_ Bokuto Koutarou to be relatively quiet). “Is somethin’ the matter?”

Akaashi shakes his head, not meeting his gaze. “I’m fine. A bit tired, I suppose, but I appreciate the concern.”

Bokuto shrugs, spinning around to walk back towards the locker room with Akaashi in tow. “Well, if ya say so. But you know you can always come talk to me ‘bout stuff, right?”

“I do,” the setter assures, with the smallest of smiles present. Even just that simple sentence has Akaashi feeling a little better already.

The team members change into their practice uniforms and start practice ten minutes later. Despite Akaashi feeling sluggish and kind of dreading having to stay after school, Bokuto’s overwhelmingly optimistic attitude today has rubbed off on him, and he can no longer find an ounce of dispassion in his bones as he sets up the ball for the ace to slam down again.

But after-school practice is only supposed to last two and a half hours, and minutes can tick by so fast when one is so wrapped up in the activity they have a burning passion for amongst the people they enjoy, as well.

Akaashi realizes that the time had passed by much too fast. He needs more time to feel like he can properly breathe before returning home to his suffocating household.

If only Bokuto knew how awfully bland and bleak Akaashi’s house was; it would probably make him gag. He’d never been there because Akaashi had technically never given him the opportunity to stay over. He’d walked the setter home a few times, but not once had he come inside. Though, of course, being the ever-so-curious social butterfly, Bokuto had asked the younger man multiple times about coming in and saying hi to his parents, and each time Akaashi would dismiss his request with a shaky exhaled answer of “they’re at work and they don’t get back until later, Bokuto-san.”

And, really, the thought of Bokuto possibly meeting his parents made his skin feel tight around his frail bones. Akaashi knows that they would be completely fake with him: his mum would laugh a little too loud when Bokuto would tell a joke, his dad would call him “buddy” and “champ” and talk to him about sports, besides not being as knowledgeable about the topic as he pretends to be, and then after the ace leaves they’d turn to their son with faces of disgusted disappointment and tell him he needs better friends, ones that are civil and quiet and serious. Ones that _aren’t_ Bokuto. And, well… Akaashi isn’t sure if he’ll be able to keep himself together enough to handle that accusation with a straight face.

“‘Kaashi, are you gonna go change? You’ve just been standin’ there.”

The setter exhales a short sigh, a breathless puff of air that makes it obvious to Bokuto that he knows he’s been caught spacing out.

“Um, Bokuto-san. Would you mind staying a bit after practice to work on quick attacks with me?” He pauses, taking a moment to realize that this is probably the first time _he’s_ asked if the other can stay after practice, as it is usually the other way around. “Only if it wouldn’t hinder any post-practice plans of yours, of course.”

It takes Bokuto a good few seconds to process the request; probably because he hadn’t been expecting it. He is well aware of his boundless energy, and he is _also_ even more aware that Akaashi likely knows his energy levels better than he does… and yet he still, _willingly,_ asked to stay with him after practice?

It doesn’t take the man long to perk up. “Akaashi! You wanna stay after with me? You really do?!”

“That _is_ why I asked, Bokuto-san.” Comes the clipped response, though the small smile he wears betrays him.

Not even seconds go by before the excitable owl is bounding over to the coaches and letting them know that they’d be hanging around afterwards. Akaashi watches his spiked hair bounce as he nods vigorously to whatever they’re asking, and his eyes trail lazily to watch his lips move as he speaks a mile a minute. He’s too tired to tune back in to actually listen to the conversation, but the voices reach his ears anyway. Not that he’s paying attention to the words they’re speaking, though. For once.

Bokuto returns from his conversation, and the two pass and set the ball back and forth as they wait for the others to filter out of the gym.

Konoha leaves last, shouting behind his shoulder that the keys to the gym are sitting on the bench. The gym doors shut with a deafening creak. Akaashi catches the ball in his hands when he hears it, eyes on his partner.

“Hey hey, Akaashi, I had an idea while we were waiting!” When the other nods for him continue, Bokuto goes on. “Instead of just working on normal quicks, what if we tried Karasuno’s freaky quick attack? Ya know, the one Hinata does?”

Akaashi’s nose scrunches as his brain ponders the idea, eyes falling to the object in his grasp. Turning the ball over in his hands for a second or two, he looks back up. “Bokuto-san, I don’t think I’ll be able to pull off such a thing. You overestimate my skill. I may be older than Kageyama-kun, but there are certain areas in which he has surpassed me.”

At least Bokuto has the decency to look shocked— perhaps offended, even— by his words. “Akaaaaashi! Don’t say that, it’s so— so _negative._ You’re great too, ya know?”

The setter huffs a quiet chuckle. He still isn’t used to having someone believe in him. “I’m not trying to be negative. Just stating the fact of the matter, is all.”

Bokuto puffs out his chest. “Well, I think we can do it! Can’t hurt to try, right?”

“I suppose not.”

 _Actually,_ Akaashi thinks, it _can_ hurt… if Bokuto ends up not being able to pull it off, he might get dejected, and then he’ll be in a bad mood for the start of practice tomorrow… and that’ll be annoying to deal with right off the bat, so—

“‘Kaashi?”

His head snaps up. Oops.

“I think you spaced out again. Is everything alright up in there?” He pokes his forehead.

“My brain is fine, Bokuto-san. I’m just thinking,” he reasons; and then a small smirk plays along with his in-the-moment decision to be bold for once, as he adds: “you should try it sometime.”

Was that flirting? That’s how people flirt, right? Just lightheartedly joking around with one another? He hopes he did it right. If not… oh well. Bokuto probably wouldn’t pick up on flirtatious remarks anyway.

Wide, golden eyes stare blankly for a second, before they light up in realization. _“Hey!”_ He accuses. “I _totally_ use my brain… sometimes!”

The setter shrugs, but he can barely fight the grin threatening to split his lips apart. He holds up the ball still in his grasp and instantly it grabs the spiker’s attention, like a favorite toy would catch a puppy’s eye. The ball is tossed to said puppy, and Akaashi backs up near the net until he’s in the setter’s court position. He bends and stretches his fingers and wrists to loosen up the joints, having a feeling that the two of them would be here another hour, at the very least. He certainly didn’t want to deal with his hands cramping up.

“We should start with our normal quick attacks first before we try anything new. Is that fine?” He asks.

“Whatever you say, Akaashi!”

And then he throws the ball up to him.

Instantly, Akaashi’s thoughts are zeroed in: on the ball, on Bokuto, on the court, on his body, his surroundings— all of it, all at once, his mind running a mile a minute as his face portrays a contrastingly collected mask.

The position of the ball is perfect, he notes. High enough to give him an extra second to think, precise enough to be able to land perfectly in his hands without much adjustment on his part, keeping him in position. His hands flick up above his head, fingers splayed, and briefly he glances at Bokuto on the opposite side of the court. He’s moving to begin his spike approach, and Akaashi counts his steps: one, slight pause, and then the last two steps, in quick succession; he’s going to jump soon, very soon; his intense golden eyes are fixed on the setter, blazing with an intense fire. He’s poised to jump, crouched, arms back, ready to spring up into the air and slam the ball down across the net. Akaashi eyes him, and as the ball lands into his waiting hands, he pushes out and sends it shooting towards the wing spiker. The toss is sent right as the ace jumps. It’s fast enough to shoot straight to its destination, but just barely slow enough to create a slight arch in the air. He watches, eyes unblinking and excitement building high in his chest, as Bokuto’s left arm extends out and his right elbow bends high in the air, the fingertips of his right hand brushing his cheekbone... just before he swings his arm forward to smack the ball dead on. He snaps his wrist down and the ball shoots straight to the floor, just past the net, bouncing nearly six feet up in the air after the initial contact and then rolling away. 

As Bokuto lands back down on the floor, stumbling a bit from the force of his jump, the excitement built up in Akaashi’s chest is released from its confines in the form of a breathless sigh. He probably looks as though he had been holding his breath in hesitant anticipation, rendering the sigh one of relief. Perhaps he was. He isn’t completely sure.

Each time they practice is a reminder that he could never tire of watching Bokuto move. Said reminder creeps up into his chest in the form of excitement and awe, tickling his ribs and releasing butterflies there; and when Bokuto lands and turns to grin at the setter after a particularly good hit, it wraps around his heart, clenching tight around the muscle until an exhaled breath stutters in his throat. He is left breathless and exasperated, as if watching the ace yanks Akaashi under ice water and then pulls him back up just as quickly, right before his surprised gasp can inhale fluid. The experience is refreshing and breath-taking and makes his heart race… but a sense of impending terror looms beside it, leaving Akaashi ever-so-slightly uneasy. He doesn’t know why. It’s not like he is in true danger, and it’s not like watching the third-year puts him in any kind of bad predicament.

Perhaps, he reasons, it is the paranoia of being watched, lurking in the shadows of even the best moments. He knows for a fact that there isn’t anyone besides the two of them present in the gym (and, likely, there’s no one even in the school anymore at this late an hour), but perhaps the constant feeling of being stared at by his peers can still rear its head in more private instances. That must be it. Or maybe it’s the anxiety that lives in the back of his mind, peeking out to get a sight of the ace as well. 

...Or perhaps it’s the added underlying feeling of despair, brought by the knowledge that this year is their last year of high school— and volleyball— together. Even more disheartening is the cold whisper in the back of his mind, telling Akaashi that this will also likely be the last year he spends as Bokuto Koutarou’s best friend.

He doesn’t know (briefly, he tells himself that he _does_ know; but he isn’t ready to confront those thoughts yet). And, really, it doesn’t matter right now, not when Bokuto is looking at Akaashi like he’s the most talented setter on Earth. His chest tightens.

 _Oh, be still, dear heart…_ he tells it, but Akaashi’s heart beats wildly anyway, and his cheeks burn red. He wonders if the other can possibly hear his internal panic.

Bokuto merely grins wider as he fetches another ball from the cart, blissfully unaware. “One more!”

He didn’t have to say that. The second-year would set for him until his arms ceased to function. 

He sets ball after ball, and after the tenth successful spike, Bokuto gives him _that_ look. Ah, he probably wants to try Karasuno’s quick attack now, Akaashi muses. He takes in a deep breath as his mind recalls a memory of the duo’s favorite play, suddenly feeling a wave of insecurity ripple through his body. He pushes it down.

“Alright,” he begins with a sigh, “for Kageyama-kun and Hinata-kun’s quick attack, you’ll need to be in the air ready to hit before the ball even reaches me. Unlike with our normal quick attacks, I set _after_ you have already jumped to spike. So, if I’m right, for this to work, your toss to me will need to be a bit lower so that you can jump immediately afterwards and be in the air by the time the ball reaches me. If it’s too high, then you’ll be in the air too soon and the toss will reach you too late. We will need to work out the timing issues first, so don’t expect the first few tries to go well.”

“Sounds good to me, ‘Kaashi.” He replies, tongue poking out to swipe off the sweat beading upon his upper lip. His hands, too, are wiped on his practice shorts before he snatches up a ball, stepping up to stand closer to the net than he had been before. Akaashi tries not to track the movements too closely. “‘Kay, here we go!”

The volleyball is in the air, a bit lower than the previous throws. Bokuto’s attack approach begins instantly after the ball has left his hands, and Akaashi hears the distinctive squeak of his court shoes against the floorboards as he steps with his left foot, right, and then left. His arms swing back and he bends at the knees, launching himself up with his arms outstretched and his gaze fixed on the still-falling ball.

Bokuto begins to drift back down to the floor by the time the ball reaches Akaashi. The setter notices and gives him a lower set, but the hit goes into the net. As expected.

Hands fisting into his spiked hair, the captain groans. “Damn! That was super close! I guess I should toss the ball to you even lower, huh?”

The next toss wasn’t as high as the last one, which was good, but Bokuto’s approach ended up being a different speed. He lagged a bit before he jumped, so he just barely missed the set, awkwardly reaching to brush his fingertips against the ball.

The third messed-up attempt was Akaashi’s fault. The ball reached his hands a mere second after Bokuto had jumped, so the man was still in the perfect position, but the toss had been too slow. How the hell could Kageyama set the ball so damn fast?

“Sorry, Bokuto-san. Do the same thing. I’ll try my best to get the ball to you.”

A drop of sweat trails down his jaw and snakes down to his chest, making Akaashi grimace. He had been so focused on matching up their timing that he hadn’t realized how hard they had been working. It’s probably been over an hour, too.

They try again. The toss is faster this time, but it’s still too slow and doesn’t match up perfectly with Bokuto’s hand, forcing him to adjust his hand’s placing at the last minute in order to make contact. Kageyama could always— somehow— shoot the ball directly into the path of Hinata’s hand with perfect timing and precision, even amidst the heat and stress of a match. Akaashi knew he himself wasn’t a bad setter. So why couldn’t he do this? Or, at least, why couldn’t he figure out where the problem lied?

Another try. And another. Six more tries lead to six more failures. For once, Bokuto isn’t the one who’s upset about the missed hits. 

Instead of trying to match the set to the spiker, Bokuto attempts to slow down his approach or jump a bit later in order to match up with the set. That still doesn’t work.

They try eight more times. Bokuto is practically drenched in sweat, and his broad chest is expanding and contracting at a rapid pace to keep up with his tired body’s increased demand for oxygen. The last try is the most successful, and Akaashi finds himself heaving a sigh of relief.

“Let’s end on that one, Bokuto-san,” he breathes, lungs also struggling. “It was the closest to decent.”

Despite being in a worse state of exhaustion, the ace looks at him, hesitance flashing in those amber irises of his. “...One more? B-but not one of the weird ones— just a normal attack. Ya know, to end on a good note?”

Akaashi sighs, but it isn’t out of frustration or annoyance. “Yes, sure. Let’s end on a better note.”

They do. The last attack isn’t a freak-duo quick, or a regular quick; just an easy, simple, toss-and-spike. Akaashi sets aside the tangled thoughts that had gathered up in his mind from the attempts beforehand. Instantly, he gives into pure instinct and muscle memory as he delivers the ball to his ace. The hit is perfect, and Bokuto cheers.

“Okay, _now_ we can be done,” he declares, ducking under the net to start collecting the stray volleyballs.

As he does, Akaashi sets to work taking down the net, untying each knot before using the crank to release the tension on the main string. The net bows in the center as it loosens, and as Akaashi continues to turn the crank, he watches his partner try (and fail) to carry six balls at once. The older boy pouts when he realizes that he can only successfully carry five balls at a time without losing one on his way to the ball cart. It’s amusing and strangely endearing.

Bokuto finishes putting away all the balls before Akaashi finishes folding up the net. The owl picks up both metal poles from their slotted place in the floor, carrying one in each arm, and takes them to the storage closet. Akaashi still doesn’t get how someone can so easily lift those things as if they were pieces of paper; as if they _didn’t_ weigh over fifty pounds. He follows Bokuto and carefully drops the folded net beside the poles.

Akaashi checks the time as he grabs the gym keys to lock up. Yep, it had definitely been over an hour since scheduled practice ended. Not that he minds; it was nice to hang out for a bit, even if their practice session had been quite fruitless near the end.

They grab their backpacks from the club room and lock up in a relatively quiet atmosphere, which is rare, because Bokuto usually makes it a point to fill the silence with humming or rambling. He normally can’t stand silence, but maybe he’s too tired today to actively make an effort.

Akaashi slips the keys inside his bag after locking up the clubroom. Beside him, Bokuto lets out an unashamed yawn. 

As the setter turns to bid the older goodbye, all possible words halt on his tongue when Bokuto speaks instead. 

“Sorry for makin’ you do the freako quick, ‘Kaashi. I know it musta been frustrating.”

Truly, he’d never expected a genuine unprompted apology from the man, especially for something so seemingly little. He lets himself dwell on the confusion it brings before he blinks and slowly responds.

“It’s… it’s alright. I’m sure you’ll be able to work on it with Kageyama-kun someday.”

Bokuto cheers up at this, beginning to ramble on about how cool it would be to rival Hinata’s quick with a special attack of his own. Akaashi listens, as he always does. And he feels what he can only assume is insecurity bubbling up in his chest… as he always does.

They walk for only a few minutes more before they split ways to continue in semi-opposite directions, wishing the other goodnight.

Akaashi tries his best to calm the warmth spreading over his cheeks as he walks home, listening to the lonely pattern of his shoes dragging on the concrete sidewalk.

Entering through the front door ten minutes later, he calls out a weak “I’m home”, and for a minute, his body stalls when he sees (and hears) his mother in the kitchen. He isn’t used to her being here when he gets home… even if it _is_ a Wednesday, and he stayed later than usual with Bokuto. Why had her presence startled him so much?

His mother refrains from welcoming him home. 

“Did you get my text?” Comes her curt answer to his arrival, because instead of asking her son how his day was, or how he’s doing, or how practice went, she treats Akaashi like he is a rodent living under the floorboards of their home: only addressing him when she has to and ignoring his bothersome existence any other time.

“Yes.” His voice is an almost hiss as a wave of anger washes in to boil his insides.

Akaashi doesn’t give her any time to glare disapprovingly or snap at him for his disrespect as he bolts up the stairs. He enters his room, throws his bags against the far wall by his desk, and flops down on the bed without caring enough to remove his sweaty practice clothes.

While it’s true that his thoughts are always in motion, gears and cogs spinning endlessly to run the hyperactive machine that is his mind, Akaashi can’t shake the feeling that something about his brain right now is going too fast. There’s an intangible feeling still lingering in his limbs, a buzzing that— in both his body and his head— will not calm. No manner of deep-breathing or hand-wringing can cease it, and the new feeling nearly makes his skin crawl with insanity.

With a frustrated sigh, the setter shoves his earbuds in and tunes out the surrounding silence, ignoring the voice in his head telling him he’d miss dinner and fall behind on schoolwork if he goes to sleep.

* * *

The next day, after Thursday classes end, Bokuto insists that they go get pork buns at the convenience store down the street, and Akaashi doesn’t have the heart or energy to deny. His weakness for the upperclassman only grows as the days pass, it seems.

Said upperclassman even pays for the both of them, with a loud declaration of “it’s my duty as your senpai to take care of you this way, Akaashi!” And again, the younger of the two doesn’t have the strength to argue. 

Bokuto, however, catches onto his lack of stubborn selflessness. As they exit the store and sit on the curb outside, he turns to stare at the setter, whose eyes are unfocused as they observe the early stages of fall alter the color of the trees lining the streets.

After another minute of feeling his crush’s gaze on him, Akaashi relents, eyes unmoving. “Do I have something on my face, Bokuto-san?”

The owl stutters a bit in response, obviously shocked and embarrassed at being found out. “N-no!” He clears his throat when his voice threatens to crack. “I just… I dunno. I guess I wanted to ask if something’s been upsetting you, cause you seem… off?” He pauses, and when Akaashi doesn’t react, he scrambles to amend his words. “Not in a bad way, though! You’ve just been, like, kinda quiet— which is normal for you, but... like, you’ve been even quieter than you _usually_ are, so I just thought—”

“I got a job.”

Akaashi hadn’t really wanted those words— or _any_ words, for that matter— to come out of his mouth, but they had anyway. He doesn’t know what prompted him. Maybe it’s because they’re best friends… don’t best friends share everything with each other? That’s how it’s supposed to go, right? The setter’s face crinkles. He probably isn’t even doing this whole ‘friendship’ thing right anyway.

“Well, uh, that’s good!” The awkward forced enthusiasm gives away Bokuto’s confusion. “People are always talkin’ about how hard it is to find jobs sometimes, so it’s a good thing you got one, right? I didn’t even know you were lookin’ for one, though.”

“I wasn’t,” he answers, and his tone is even and monotonous. Not cold, necessarily; but definitely bitter.

“But… if you weren’t lookin’ for one, then how’d you even get hired? Did someone scout you on the streets, Akaashi?” He’s grinning; Akaashi can hear it in his voice. In his peripheral, he catches him going rigid. “Wait, wait— are you… could you possibly be working for a _gang?!”_

 _Of course he’d go there,_ the setter thinks, finishing off the last remnants of his pork bun. He’s always been one to go right to the dramatic side of things. 

“What? No, of course not, Bokuto-san. My mother got me the job. A friend of hers owns a restaurant, they were looking for job openings, so she made— so she _offered_ the job to me. I suppose I just took it on a whim.”

“Oh, okay… so, having a job is that shitty? Shitty enough to make _you_ all grumpy?” Bokuto smiles again, and finally Akaashi turns to look at him with a glint of annoyance. His annoyance doesn’t last for long, though, because there’s pork filling on the corner of his mouth. Akaashi wrings his hands together to avoid reaching out and swiping it off.

“I haven’t actually started yet... and I’m not grumpy.”

Laughing, the captain bounces up, wiping his palms on his uniform pants. “ _Suuure,_ Akaashi. Whatever you say.”

The setter huffs and stands to throw away his napkin, but he pauses. There’s still food stuck to Bokuto’s face. Should he wipe it off for him? Is that too intimate? Do friends— even best friends— do that sort of thing? He is seriously overthinking this, it’s _a piece of fucking meat_ for God’s sake, why does it require so much _thought—_

“Hey, Akaashi, _do I have something on my face?”_

His thoughts screech to a stop. Bokuto is mocking him, it’s much too obvious; if his tone hadn’t given it away, his triumphant shit-eating grin would have.

He was bold before, and it hadn’t gotten him in any trouble then… so surely Akaashi could afford to be a bit brave now.

“Actually, yes.” The setter tries his best to keep his voice as still as possible, like it usually is, but it wobbles, and he attempts to hide how nervous he is by quickly reaching up and wiping the corner of his mouth with the unused napkin in his hand.

Not meeting his gold eyes, he takes the other boy’s trash from the ground and throws their garbage in the bin behind them.

Bokuto throws an arm around Akaashi’s shoulder, and the latter tries his best to hide the way his breath hitches at the contact. “Aww, maybe you aren’t so grumpy after all! I take it back. No hard feelings?”

He doesn’t glance up at him, because he can feel how _close_ the upperclassman is, can feel the warmth radiating from his skin; and Akaashi has a feeling that if he looks at him now, he might not be able to turn away… If he looks at him now, his mask might crack, and Bokuto might be able to see all of the feelings hiding under its surface… If he looks at him now…

God, if he looks at him now, he might just start feeling brave again, and then he might be unable to resist the terrifyingly strong desire to kiss him.

Steely blue-green eyes stay fixed on the ground and on the rustling, browning leaves that reside there.

“Of course not, Bokuto-san.”

No, of course there were no hard feelings between them. There might be _feelings,_ certainly… but Akaashi could never bring himself to feel anything permanently negative about Fukurodani’s ace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pleaseeee leave kudos or comments or something if you took the time to read bc it makes my day! i'll see you guys in the next chap, thank uuuu for reading


	2. landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akaashi starts his new job... among other things.
> 
> **TW: panic attacks, homophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!! sorry it took so long to update. i decided to split the 2nd of 3 chapters into 2 separate chapters cuz it got really really long. the next update might be a bit shorter than this. ngl this chap is kinda boring BUT please stay tuned!!! the 3rd chap is when things get really really interesting, i promise. you can kinda skim everything but PLS READ THE LAST BIT!!! it is important
> 
> thx for reading. pls note the trigger warnings in the chapter summary <3

The weekend arrives too quickly for Akaashi’s liking. The effort it takes to get out of bed early on a Saturday morning is too great, and he seriously ponders faking an illness.

His mum would probably murder him, though.

He sighs, and it’s loud and annoyed and doesn’t relieve him of the exhaustion he feels. The tiredness is settled so heavily in his bones that his limbs feel like they’re made of pure platinum, and dragging himself out from under his sheets is quite a task.

Nevertheless, he is ready for his on-the-job training before seven in the morning. He pulls up his messages and finds the text from his mother with the address of the place, leaving his house in careful silence.

As he walks, Akaashi wonders whether Bokuto would ever be up so early on a Saturday morning. He’d probably only get up for something volleyball or food related, and the thought makes the second-year chuckle to himself.

He reaches the restaurant in almost fifteen minutes to find that there are already people inside, setting up the tables and chairs. It isn’t a large establishment, but it certainly isn’t small; the interior is quite decorated, mainly upon the dark red painted walls, where things like old English newspaper clippings, historical art, old photographs, and replicas of artifacts and older inventions sit. It’s an interesting choice of style, and the decor is a bit much compared to the minimalist walls he sees on a daily basis, but he tries to take it as a positive change; at least the differently-decorated walls can be an escape from his house.

“Are you Akaashi Keiji?”

Turning at the sound of his name, he sees a shorter girl with medium-length black hair, dressed in the same work uniform he’d been given.

He nods politely. “Yes. I just started. Am I late?”

She blinks. “Late? No, not at all! You’re right on time, actually. We open in an hour and a half, but before then, the manager wanted me to show you around and let you know what station you’ll be starting at.” Smiling, the girl extends a hand to introduce herself, and Akaashi shakes it. “I’m Hoshi Asuka. It’s nice to meet you!”

“Likewise, Hoshi-san.”

The setter doesn’t mention it, but her surname sounds somewhat familiar.

He trails after the girl as she shows him around to the kitchen, the bathrooms, the storage closets, and the emergency exits, informing him of safety procedures and how to deal with unruly customers as they walk.

“You’ll be starting in the kitchen for now. It’s nothing hard, don’t worry! Just simple dish duty. And during closing hours, you’ll mostly be responsible for cleaning the tables and bathrooms, stacking the chairs, making sure the kitchen appliances are alright, and helping lock up— don’t forget to flip the sign back to ‘closed’! I used to always forget that part. 

I didn’t see you on the schedule for any of the morning shifts, but opening the restaurant is just like closing, just backwards and with a few added steps: you unstack the chairs, fire up the grills in the kitchen, make sure the fridges and freezers are working properly, open up the doors, and flip the sign to ‘open’. Easy, right?” Hoshi grins again, and for a moment, Akaashi thinks that she is quite similar to Bokuto. “Do you have any questions? Or concerns? Or… I don’t know, anything else?”

“No,” he answers instantly, having paid close attention. “Well, actually, um… what should I do right now? Since the restaurant has yet to open for another—” he glances at the time— “twenty minutes?”

“The morning crew is about done, so I guess the two of us can just hang out ‘till we open up. My mum should be here soon— she had a phone call to answer, so she’s out back right now.” 

Akaashi sits by the girl on one of the barstools, wondering why her mum would… oh. _Oh._

“Hoshi-san, does your mother happen to own this establishment?”

She perks up, giving him another blinding smile. “Yep! Apparently our parents are friends, right? It’s weird how we never met before, and now we’re suddenly working together. I guess that’s one way to introduce people.”

He huffs a short laugh, appreciating her lighthearted attitude. So _that’s_ why he’d briefly recognized her name earlier. 

Minutes later, a woman with a slight resemblance to the girl on his left walks in through the back door, muttering angrily to herself as she glares at the phone clutched in her fingers. Looking up, however, her eyes meet Akaashi’s, and her expression changes so fast that he feels like he might have blacked out for a millisecond.

“Keiji! Hello, love, it’s so good to see you!”

God, her smile is so terribly wide and so horribly fake that forcing himself to return it makes him want to claw his skin off. Perhaps she’d adopted some behaviors from his own mother.

Despite never meeting her before, the woman goes in for a tight hug. Awkwardly, the boy returns it, feeling extremely out of his element.

“Good morning, Hoshi-san,” he pauses, his initial shock at her onslaught of familiarity blocking his coherent thoughts for an instant. “I hope to serve you well.”

She waves him off with a chuckle. “Oh, don’t be silly! From what your mother has told me about you, I assume you’ll be climbing the ranks here in no time. Just don’t work _too_ hard, alright?”

“I will try my best, ma’am.”

She pinches his cheek, calls him handsome, and leaves to attend to her other workers.

Well. That was certainly… interesting, to put it lightly.

Next to him, Hoshi snorts. “Um— sorry about her. She’s kinda… what’s the word? Extra? Over-the-top? But only when she first meets people, ‘cause she wants them to like her. She’ll chill out, I promise.”

“It’s quite alright,” he assures, and he smiles softly. “I know someone with a similar personality.”

* * *

So far, his new job isn’t as terrible as he’d thought it would be. It _is_ kind of annoying to have to wake up early on weekends, and washing dishes for hours on end makes the tendons in his arms cramp. But it’s doable, and it gives him out of his bleak house.

He helps close up the restaurant on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, so he always has to decline when Bokuto asks him to practice after school on those days so that he can have time for homework before work. It’s endearing how disappointed the ace will get, even if he’s probably grieving over the loss of potential spiking practice and not over lost time with his underclassman.

Not even a full two weeks into his job, though, three of the table waiters quit, and the remaining waiting staff are in over their heads with the sudden added responsibility. Desperate, Hoshi visits the restaurant when Akaashi is working a Thursday night closing shift. She begs him to accept a raise and wait tables rather than stick with his cleaning job.

“Look,” she starts. “I know you’re still new and this is kind of a lot to ask just out of the blue, but rush hours are getting nearly impossible to work. All of the staff have to tend to so many tables at once now that we seriously can’t keep up; our tips are getting really shitty and we keep getting nasty reviews about how terrible we are at our jobs. My mum’s really stressed about it, _I’m_ really stressed about it, and honestly, I’m desperate at this point, ‘cause no one’s come in for job application forms.”

Setting down the soap-soaked rag, he turns and looks at her. She certainly isn’t lying: there are dark circles under her wide eyes Hoshi looks absolutely frantic.

“Okay,” he decides. “What exactly are my new responsibilities?”

“Y-you’ll do it? For real?”

His jaw moves as he grinds his teeth, considering again— even though he already knows his final answer. “I will. When do I—”

Before he can finish, he’s being hugged within an inch of his life. “Oh my god, thank you, thank you, _thank you!_ Akaashi, seriously, you are the best. This is gonna help so much!” She releases him and flashes a smile. “Um, if you wouldn’t mind… could you start this Sunday? You can shadow me or any of the other waiting staff on Saturday. Does that work?”

 _That’s not a lot of time to prepare,_ he thinks. But how can he say no? She looks like she hasn’t slept well in days, and alleviating some of that stress is the least he could do in return for her kindness so far.

“Yes, I think so. Will I need to memorize the menu before Saturday, then?” He picks his rag back up and continues to scrub the table.

“Yeah… but it’s not that difficult! There isn’t a lot of stuff on there, I promise. I’ve known it by heart for years, so if you want me to quiz you to test your knowledge, feel free to shoot me a text, ‘kay?”

He nods.

“Here, toss me a rag,” he reaches into the water bucket and does so. “I won’t just leave after practically barreling in here and begging you to take on more responsibility. We’ll be outta here in no time!”

 _How thoughtful of her._ She reminds him, once again, of a certain owl-haired wing spiker.

They finish washing the tables and stacking chairs in silence from Akaashi’s end, with Hoshi’s talk of how the new waiting job will be humming in the background of his thoughts. Though he is tempted to tune out the constant sound of her voice, the setter brings himself to listen and nod when her speech pauses. After all, he supposes the information he might gather could help him adjust to the change of pace he’ll soon experience.

“Hey, Akaashi?” The girl prompts, and the hesitance behind it has nerves twisting his stomach.

“Mhm?” He’s too tired to say much else, so such a half-hearted hum is all he can manage.

“This is probably going to sound rude, but I don’t mean it that way! I guess I just don’t really know you well, so I’m curious…” she trails off and her eyes flick over to look at him. Akaashi nods for her to continue her train of thought, assuring Hoshi that what she says likely won’t offend him. “Do you have any friends? Like, at school and stuff…? Wait— you _are_ still in high school, right?”

Does… does he have any friends? _That’s_ the question?

…Well, he supposes he can’t blame her for asking. With the way he speaks and carries himself around others, surely many assume that he is the emotionless antisocial type who possesses the stereotypical inability to connect with others.

“I… yes, I’m still in high school. I’m a second-year at Fukurodani Academy.” He pauses as he begins a new chair stack. “As far as friends go… I have a steady number of acquaintances. And… I suppose I have one— or, well, maybe a few— real friends.”

Hoshi blinks at him. “That’s good! You’re so shy, I was worried for a minute there that you might not have any friends, and the thought made me sad.” 

Akaashi doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t, hoping she’ll continue talking so the interaction doesn’t end on an awkward note.

Luckily, she doesn’t seem to notice the weird tension suddenly present between them. “So, what are they like? Tell me about them. Oh, and tell me all about Fukurodani! I almost went there, ya know, but I go to Nekoma High instead.”

The setter perks up at that. “Nekoma? That’s a bit farther East from here— in the Nerima ward, correct?” The girl nods. “If I may ask, what made you choose Nekoma over Fukurodani?”

A devilish grin lights up her face, and she giggles a little. “Honestly? ‘Cause it’s cheaper. Even though the train rides to get there are longer.”

The raven-haired boy can’t hold back a breathless chuckle. “Quite a reasonable decision, then. I actually know a couple of people who go there.”

“Friends?”

Akaashi considers this; Kenma might be, but is pain-in-the-ass Kuroo-san a friend? They haven’t hung out outside of volleyball, and they haven’t even been around each other much without Bokuto present. “Well… No…? No, they’re just acquaintances. One is close with a friend of mine, though.”

“Does your non-acquaintance friend go to Fukurodani?”

“Yes. He’s on the school’s volleyball team with me, and his friend from Nekoma is also on their team. They’re both in their third-year.”

Hoshi wilts a little. “Your friend is a third-year while you’re a year _behind?_ Aw, Akaashi, that sucks! I’m excited to graduate with my friends after next semester, but I hear it’s really bumming if you’ve gotta graduate all alone.”

He shrugs, ignoring the urge to cut off the conversation so that he isn’t forced to dwell on how lonely his graduation will be. Akaashi is already painfully aware of the fact that he’s the only second-year on the team. He doesn’t need any sort of pitiful reminder.

“But,” she starts again, “you said you had— or, _maybe_ had— more than just one friend, right? Are they in your year?”

Konoha, Komi, Sarukui, and Washio, he thinks. The lot of them truly aren’t _very_ close to Akaashi (could they even be considered friends?), but when Bokuto isn’t talking Akaashi’s ears off, Konoha speaks with him the most out of everyone else. And Washio is nice, quiet company; like a comforting shadow.

“...They are also third-years.”

Hoshi stops organizing chairs and turns to look at her coworker. “Akaashi! You’ve _gotta_ try to make some friends in your year. Seriously, this is depressing. Maybe I’ll just visit your school and introduce you to a bunch of random second-years, and the few who connect with you will surely stick around.”

A small smile comes with the thought that such an impulsive yet caring action seems an awful lot like something Bokuto would do. “I appreciate the thought, Hoshi-san, but I don’t think that’s how friendships usually work.”

Ah, but who is he kidding? Akaashi obviously doesn’t know how relationships work either, and Hoshi most likely knows more on the subject than he. Akaashi truly is a lost cause, isn’t he?

“Well, that’s how friendships _oughta_ work.”

The topic drops at that, hanging in the air as if there is something more that needs to be said. Nevertheless, the two finish closing up in silence, checking the kitchen refrigeration appliances and shutting off the lights before they head to leave.

Looking towards the metal ‘open/closed’ sign hanging in the window, Hoshi bumps her shoulder against the other’s arm as she gestures to it. “Would you like to do the honors?”

He returns her friendly smile and flips the sign to ‘closed’, following the girl out of the establishment as she locks up the doors from the inside.

“Thank you for staying to help, Hoshi-san.”

She beams. “Of course! It really isn’t a problem. I’ll see you on Saturday?”

“You will.” He assures, before adding a polite: “have a good night.”

“You too, Akaashi!” 

They turn away from each other and begin to walk in opposing directions before the girl whirls around.

“Don’t forget to make more friends!”

He smiles, holding up a hand and waving in response.

And then he is alone, walking down the dim Tokyo streets bathed in the yellowed glow of arching street lamps. A light drizzle begins to fall and slick up the dirtied roads, but Akaashi finds that, this time, he doesn’t mind the feeling of rainwater slowly soaking his scalp.

He can’t even find it in himself to care when, twenty minutes later, he arrives home and his mother scolds him for forgetting an umbrella.

* * *

Friday comes and goes, with Bokuto asking, once again, how Akaashi’s evening shift went the night before. His heart swells whenever the spiker brings it up, because even though work is usually the last thing anyone wants to discuss, the fact that Bokuto manages to remember when the setter works at all shows just how much the man cares.

Just barely, though, the exhaustion of spending the weekend hours working rather than relaxing has begun to take a toll on Akaashi’s daily energy levels. The change is subtle, and no one has noticed the small alteration yet, so he doesn’t think it’s an issue.

In due time, Saturday morning arrives. Akaashi considers himself very well prepared for his introduction to the newer position. He’d spent hours the night before studying the restaurant menu and googling etiquette tips for first-time servers. Of course, nothing can prepare as well as hands-on experience.

Hoshi quizzes him on the menu items the morning of. Once she deems him ready, she begins talking through the details of the job.

“You’ll probably start off working mostly at the entrance host stand, walking people to their tables and handing out menus and setting tables with their silverware and stuff. We don’t take reservations here, so you’ll also need to be prepared to let customers know that. Oh, and the waiting times! People usually come in during the lunch hours, so it gets busiest during the 11AM to 3PM window, which can cause a walk-in wait time of about thirty to forty minutes. It’s almost never over an hour. A tip about wait times: try to overestimate, just a little bit, so that customers will be happy when they seem to get a table early. It’s kinda crafty, but hey— every business has their secrets!” 

She pauses to welcome in a coworker who waves when she clocks in for the morning.

“Anyway,” she goes on, “always be polite; tell people ‘welcome’, and ‘thanks for coming’ and shit. I’m pretty sure you already know how to be nice to people, so I won’t say anything more about manners. When it comes to food, customers can return a dish if they have eaten _less_ than half of it. If it’s more than half, we can’t refund or replace it. Let’s see… right, tips! People here mostly leave cash tips stashed under their leftover dishes, so don’t forget to look. Obviously the nicer and more attentive you are, the better the tip could be. Just try to check up on your assigned tables often and ask how things are. If customers are being super bitchy and you don’t wanna deal with ‘em, you can come fetch me since I’m technically manager-status here. And ask families with smaller kiddos if they want crayons and a coloring page, but don’t give them more than, like, two sets of crayons, even if they break ‘em, ‘cause we’re running kinda low.”

Stopping to take in a breath, the girl glances up at him. “Any questions?”

Akaashi shakes his head, rolling back all the information he’s gathered so far in his brain like a film reel. When it comes to quickly retaining information, the setter is always more than qualified for the task.

“Alrighty!” She shouts. “We open in fifteen minutes, so get ready to serve some damn tables like a champ! Or, ya know, get ready to follow me around while _I_ wait tables, for now.”

The morning is slow, especially for a Saturday, and for this Akaashi is grateful. In fact, after the breakfast hours end and the kitchen staff begin preparing ingredients for lunch, Hoshi suggests Akaashi begin working on his own after the lunch hours roll to a calmer pace.

“Are you sure?” He asks, wringing his bony fingers together as uncertainty clouds his mood.

“Positive! You’re a fast learner, I think you’ll be a total natural at this.” An elbow prods gently into his side, a gesture that is supposed to be reassuring, but Akaashi doesn’t think it does the job. “Besides, it’ll only be a few hours, and things tend to calm down as the restaurant nears closing time anyway. You’ll be just fine.”

Hoshi is right; the boy does well by the time dinnertime comes around and he’s set off to wait tables on his own. The setter finds that hours seem to tick by much faster when he has constant tasks to occupy himself with: filling drinks, checking up on customers, fetching menus and coloring pages, scribbling down orders, fetching plates and bowls of food. The sun finally begins to dip low in the sky, and an hour after it hides fully beneath the horizon, the restaurant doors close to new customers. At last, the boy feels like he can breathe again. He had only worked for a day, with only a fraction of the responsibility that Hoshi had, yet he’s already drained. Briefly, he wonders how Hoshi can handle the load of it all.

Luckily, he doesn’t work the closing shifts on weekends, so he makes it home by 9:30PM. Despite the looming pile of homework that needs his attention, the boy showers and crawls immediately into bed. His feet ache from standing and moving around upon the stiff hardwood floors of the restaurant for almost thirteen hours straight, and Akaashi groans in annoyance when he feels the familiar tightening feeling of an oncoming leg cramp.

His stomach gives an impatient grumble, and he grumbles back at it as he gets up. His father is upstairs in his office, so the boy is quiet as he tiptoes down the stairs. In his peripheral, he spots his mother, who has dozed off on the couch. He frowns and rolls his eyes, wondering why she’s so tired when she wasn’t the one working all damn day.

As Akaashi is waiting for his dinner to warm up in the microwave, his phone chimes. It’s a text from Bokuto. He tries to tell himself that seeing Bokuto’s name on his lockscreen _doesn’t_ make his heart do a metaphorical flip. _Nope, nope, nope. That_ definitely _did not just happen._

_‘HEY HEY AKAASHI!!! what’s the name of the place u work @? u never told me! :(‘_

Chuckling, he types out a response: _‘I didn’t think it was important. Why do you want to know?’_

Not even a second after the message delivers, Bokuto is typing again.

_‘I wanna visit u @ ur work! duh!! so where is it?’_

Bokuto wants to visit him at work. He wants to see him outside of school, in a place that _isn’t_ the convenience store down the street from school.

Akaashi is proud of himself for not squealing like a schoolgirl. _Gosh, why is this such a big deal? Get a hold on yourself, Akaashi!_ He scolds, sending Bokuto the address and popping his meal out of the microwave just before it beeps and disturbs his... _hardworking_ mother.

He eyes his phone as he sits to eat. As expected, Bokuto’s response is quick and leaves a small smile on his face.

Maybe this new job won’t be such a bad thing after all.

* * *

Akaashi wakes on Sunday morning in a significantly better mood than he had the previous day. He freshens up and dresses in his uniform with a little kick in his step, excited for the day’s shift. Even his father takes notice of his unusually peppy behavior as he skips down the stairs two steps at a time.

“You’re awfully chipper this morning, son.” He gives him a slightly judgmental once-over as he sips at the cooling tea in the mug before him.

“Just woke up in a more-than-decent mood, I guess,” Akaashi replies, making toast and pouring himself a glass of juice.

The conversation drops there, leaving an awkward silence between the two. It’s obvious his father wants to prod more, but neither he nor Akaashi are frequent talkers.

Akaashi munches on his plain toast, washing down the dryness of it with the last of his juice. He bids a polite, “goodbye, dad” and heads out to work.

Hoshi is already there when he walks in, speaking with the employees who are finishing setup for the first shift. When there’s a break in the conversation, Akaashi approaches.

“Good morning, Hoshi-san.” He greets, helping an employee next to her unbox more crayons. “I guess we’re no longer short on crayons.”

“Yep, the kids’ll be stoked,” she laughs, reaching up to tie her hair back into a ponytail. “Are you okay with waiting tables right away instead of working at the hostess stand? Sunday mornings are usually pretty crowded.”

“I don’t mind,” he assures, slipping an order notepad into the pocket of his waist apron.

A few minutes later, however, Akaashi realizes that he _might_ mind it a bit, only because _not_ working at the entrance means he might miss Bokuto if he happens to walk in.

Hoshi was right, though; the morning hours are busier when it’s a Sunday. Yet despite the rush of customers, Akaashi still finds himself glancing at the entrance doors every so often, eyes roaming the unfamiliar faces there in search of one with silly spiked hair, golden eyes, and dimples.

Hours later, the lunch shift is half-an-hour from over. Akaashi is in the break room, beginning to think that Bokuto won’t show after all, when he hears a familiar bustle of laughter. Immediately his gut is filled with giddy butterflies as he stands and throws away his granola bar wrapping.

Sure enough, there’s Bokuto in all of his owl-esque glory. He’s wearing a graphic hoodie and jeans, and Akaashi realizes with a start that he hasn’t _really_ seen the ace in casual clothes. The two have always been in uniform or volleyball attire around one another, especially because when they _do_ hang out outside of school, it’s right after a game or practice.

Akaashi knows he’s walking towards Bokuto— who is talking to Hoshi— but he can’t really focus on his body’s movement because his mind is filled with extremely domestic thoughts of: _how big would Bokuto’s hoodie be on me? How soft is it? How would it feel to be wrapped up in his clothes as we lay together on our shared couch in our shared apartment and—_

“Akaashi! Hey hey hey!”

The second-year snaps from his trance, blinking to try and make it less obvious that he had just been zoning out. “Hey, Bokuto-san. How long have you been here?”

“Oh, I just got here a few minutes ago! I just met Hoshi-san, and she told me you were on break. I didn’t wanna disturb you or anything,” he adds sheepishly, scratching at the tip of his nose as he ducks his head.

“You aren’t a disturbance,” Akaashi assures. “Are you staying to eat?”

“‘Course! Have I ever passed up on food before?”

Chuckling, the setter cleans up the menu stack, facing them all the same way and straightening the pile. “No, you haven’t.” He pauses, realizing Hoshi has just been standing there and silently witnessing their conversation. “Um, Hoshi-san, this is Bokuto-san. He’s the volleyball friend I was talking about.”

“Aw, ‘Kaashi! You talk about me?” The third-year slaps a hand to his chest, feigning his pleasant surprise.

Hoshi laughs a little. “Ha, don’t get _too_ excited about it. All he said was that you’re his only friend from school, and that you’re a year older.”

Akaashi sighs, muttering a response. “I didn’t say he was my _only_ friend—”

Hoshi waves him off. “Anyway! So, Akaashi, have you had any luck finding some _second-year_ friends?”

He sighs in response. “...Not yet.”

“Hey!” Bokuto accuses, pouting a little. “Are his current friends not good enough or somethin’?”

“It’s not that,” Hoshi laughs. “It’s just that it’s shitty that you third-years will graduate before he does.”

“Oh,” Bokuto replies, visibly wilting a bit. “Yeah, I guess that’s true…”

 _Here we go again,_ Akaashi thinks. “It’s fine, Bokuto-san. I’m sure we’ll visit each other.”

He hopes they will. He hopes Bokuto doesn’t go off to college to play on some majorly well-known team where he’ll be so swept up in the fame that he forgets all about Akaashi. He hopes Bokuto won’t realize that, without Akaashi, he could accomplish so much more. He’s that insignificant, after all. 

...Plus: _hope is a dangerous thing._

Awkwardly, Hoshi straightens, snapping back to duty-mode. “Right then! Bokuto, if you’ll please follow me to—”

“I’ll take care of him, Hoshi-san,” Akaashi interjects.

“But aren’t ya on break, ‘Kaashi?”

The second-year turns to his third-year friend. “I am, but… it’s fine. I’m on my lunch break, anyway, so we can just eat together. If… that’s fine with you?”

“Sounds great! Lead the way,” The ace insists.

Akaashi lets Bokuto slide into an open booth near the back as the former fetches them water and a menu.

When the younger boy doesn’t sit down, Bokuto lays the menu card back down. “Are you not gonna sit?”

Akaashi gives a reassuring smile, a feeling of fondness encircling his heart in a warm bubble. “Don’t worry, I will. Just let me take your order first.”

“Oh!” The owlish man exclaims, attention whipping back to the menu. Amused, Akaashi watches his expressive eyes roam the options before he looks back up to the setter: “A sandwich sounds great right about now, huh?”

“Sure,” he replies.

“Knew it! Then, I’ll have the…”

As Bokuto describes how he wants his sandwich (“with a lot of meat, Akaashi— like, a _lot!_ Gotta get that protein!”), Akaashi jots it all down with a small smile.

Minutes later, Akaashi fetches their food and they settle into a whole half hour of easy chatter. For some reason, the second-year finds himself grinning wildly whenever Bokuto smiles or makes a bad joke. Vaguely, his mind warns him that he is acting _way_ out of his usual range of limited emotions, but he’s too over-the-moon and happy right now to let the thought phase him.

Akaashi briefly imagines this being a date, and the mere thought of it makes his insides flip giddily, so he shoots that fantasy down. For now, he can simply enjoy Bokuto’s company as a friend.

* * *

Two more weeks pass, and Akaashi can confidently say that he’s gotten the hang of things at his job. Plus, not only is his job _not_ as terrible as he thought, but Bokuto makes it a point to visit him at work each weekend. And if that doesn’t boost the setter’s mood, he doesn’t know what else could.

Even now, Akaashi checks the time and casts his eyes to the front doors as he waits for the third-year’s inevitable arrival. He tries his best to focus on tending to the tables he’s been assigned, but he can’t help the butterflies he feels.

He’s taking the orders of his second table when he hears the unmistakable laughter of, not Bokuto, but _Kuroo._ Sighing, he turns to confirm his suspicions, and _yep,_ there’s the rooster-headed middle blocker with Bokuto right behind him.

“Yo!” Kuroo greets, holding up a hand to wave towards the setter.

Akaash rolls his eyes as he turns away, choosing to ignore him for as long as he can before he’s inevitably assigned as their server.

The middle-aged woman at the table he’s _currently_ serving giggles something about “the wonders of youth”, and he tries not to snort, because that phrase sounds oddly akin to something Kuroo would say.

As expected, Akaashi leads the two volleyball players to an open table. He prepares himself for their antics as he asks for their drink orders.

“Aw, come on, Akaashi,” Kuroo teases, tugging at his uniform. “Not even a ‘hi’ or a ‘how are you’?”

An involuntary sigh leaves him, but the second-year gives in anyway. “Hi, Kuroo-san. How are you.” He deadpans.

“I’m just absolutely peachy! Thank you for asking, you’re _so_ _thoughtful._ ”

“Yes, I know, I’m the nicest.” Akaashi pauses to sigh. “Now, do either of you want anything to drink, or shall I let you go thirsty?”

Bokuto chuckles, understanding the conversation’s sarcasm (for once). “Ya know, bro, ‘Kaashi doesn’t sigh this much when it’s just me. I think he hates ya.”

“Nonsense!” Kuroo declares, and the volume of it draws the attention of some nearby customers.

Again, Akaashi sighs, fingers twitching impatiently. “I’m putting down ‘waters’ for the both of you. The last thing either of you need is sugar or caffeine.”

He turns to briskly walk away before they can protest, and serves the food orders for his previous table (he’s continuously thankful for his long palms and strong, calloused setter fingers, because not only are these plates hot, but they can get _heavy_ ). He refills the waters for the first of the four tables he’s tending to before he grabs the drink glasses for Bokuto and Kuroo. He sincerely hopes they don’t become too rowdy.

They thank Akaashi rather theatrically when he gives them their waters, and he resists the urge to spill them on purpose.

“Are you ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes to decide?” He asks, clicking his pen.

“I’m ready!” Bokuto declares, and his menu slaps against the table’s surface when he drops it. “I’ll have—”

“The American ham-and-pastrami sandwich with extra _extra_ meat, extra pickles, double cheese, no tomatoes, light mayonnaise, and added mustard on rye bread?” Akaashi guesses the rest of the sentence for him with no hesitation and without looking up as he scribbles the order down.

“Right on!” The owl confirms, slurping noisily from his straw.

Kuroo looks at Bokuto, then Akaashi, then back to Bokuto, eyes blinking in disbelief. “That’s one hefty order. How many times have you come here for Akaashi to have _memorized_ it already, Bo?”

“Ah, not that many times, I swear! Just like… I dunno, two? Three times? But ‘Kaashi only recently started working like a month ago. He’s just smart like that!”

“...‘Just smart like that’, huh?” Kuroo muses, narrowing his gaze just slightly as he stares at Akaashi.

The setter doesn’t particularly like being the subject of such a calculative gaze. The Nekoma captain may not be as highly observant as Kenma, but he isn’t dumb, and he’s quite good at picking up on subtleties.

...In all honesty, Akaashi hadn’t _meant_ to memorize his order at all. It had just… happened. Bokuto had visited the restaurant last Saturday and Akaashi hadn’t even batted an eye when he realized he knew his senior’s sandwich order by heart, even though the ace was notably impressed.

Clearing his throat, Akaashi returns his look of suspicion with a bored stare. “If you don’t give me an order, Kuroo-san, I’ll have to come back later.”

“And then I’ll get my food before you,” Bokuto taunts.

Clicking his tongue, Kuroo turns to eye the menu for a few seconds and makes a choice. When Akaashi leaves their table to ring the orders in, the second-year can’t help but feel a catlike stare burning into the back of his uniform shirt.

Said stare doesn’t seem to leave him as he hustles around the establishment with trays of drinks and stacks of plates in hand. Akaashi keeps trying to convince himself that he’s imagining it, and that Kuroo is likely caught up in a ridiculous conversation with Bokuto, but he still can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched.

Ten minutes later, he serves Bokuto and Kuroo their meals, pointedly avoiding the eye of the middle blocker when he refills their drinks.

“How is it?” He asks them, mostly out of habit.

“It’sh shuper good!” Bokuto answers, mouth full.

Akaashi resists the urge to smile at his pure childishness, instead turning to Kuroo.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Kuroo agrees, even though he hadn’t even touched his food yet.

For a moment, as the two raven-haired boys have a small stare-off, Akaashi wonders if Kuroo is _jealous,_ and is simply laying his protective ‘claim’ over the Fukurodani ace. _Surely Kuroo can’t have feelings for Bokuto as well… right?_

The captain seems to glimpse the worry in Akaashi’s irises, because he slips back into his easygoing state and gives the setter a reassuring smile. “We’re all good here, don’t let us keep you from your other tables.”

“...Right,” Akaashi replies, grabbing the two menus. “Enjoy your meal.”

Still confused, Akaashi ponders the strange interaction with Kuroo as he seats more customers. Was he trying to tell him something? Give him a hint? Or maybe he was just messing with him, knowing the second-year is prone to overthinking every situation.

He’s still thinking absentmindedly about it all when he notices Kuroo and Bokuto get up to leave. He’s currently serving drinks, so he can’t exactly go over to say goodbye, but he gives a nod as they wave. Even with the distance, Akaashi doesn’t miss the Nekoma player’s smug wink.

The setter tries not to dwell on the implications of it and instead focus on his job, but his efforts are deemed useless when he buses their table to find an ink-scribbled napkin hiding under the tip. On the top side, it reads: _‘THANKS AKAASHI!!!!! -your favorite senpai’,_ which makes him smile. But, on the bottom, in finer and slightly neater handwriting that _isn’t_ Bokuto’s: _‘;) you aren’t very good at pretending, btw’._

Immediately, Akaashi flushes and crumples the napkin up, shoving it into his back pocket.

He thinks back to their brief interaction and goes over what he’d said or done to make his feelings for his upperclassman so obvious. The only thing he can see as a probable giveaway is the fact that he has Bokuto’s order memorized, but honestly, how could he _not_ remember something so absurdly _Bokuto?_

...Oh. Akaashi gets it now.

If Kuroo was able to pick up on his feelings for Bokuto, then… does that mean other people might now? Does Hoshi know? Oh god, what if someone on the team knows? Even more humiliating, what if his damn _coach_ knows?

...And what if _Bokuto_ knows?

* * *

The possibility of Bokuto knowing how he feels has Akaashi even more on-edge than he usually is. It has the boy routinely second-guessing his actions, especially around his teammates; if they find out (assuming they don’t already know), _surely_ they’d tell Bokuto. Which _cannot_ happen.

All this time, Bokuto could have _known_ about his crush; God, it makes Akaashi nearly queasy with anxiety. The thought of it sits comfortably in the forefront of his mind, delaying his usually fast volleyball reflexes.

This change doesn’t go unnoticed.

Konoha jogs over. “Akaashi, are you good? You’re lagging a bit, man.”

“Oh, I’m fi—”

“He’s prob’ly jus’ tired, Konoha!” Bokuto interrupts, butting into their space. “‘Kaashi’s got a _job._ Hey hey, wait— shouldn’t _we_ have jobs, too? We’re older!”

With a sigh, Konoha shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah, we get it; Akaashi’s better than us.”

Akaashi, concerned that they truly think of him this way, assures the blonde third-year that he isn’t better than anyone in any aspect. Washio— to further irritate Konoha— chimes in and mentions that _he_ has a job. Konoha flips him off light-heartedly and stalks off.

The boy exhales a breath he hadn’t realized was being withheld. He tells himself that the team has plenty of other things to focus on besides Akaashi and his (possibly obvious) crush on their captain. After all, the third-years have college entrance exams to study for, so they likely don’t even have the brainpower to wonder how gay their setter is.

At least, Akaashi _hopes_ they don’t.

* * *

At work, Akaashi passes the grueling hours by trying to analyze his vague interaction with Kuroo from the other day. He’s so inevitably zoned-out that he doesn’t hear Hoshi when she calls him over, and she has to repeat his name twice more.

He joins her near the bar area. “Yes, Hoshi-san?”

The girl raises on her tiptoes and leans in close to his ear to whisper: “don’t look now, but I think the girls over at table eight are checking you out.”

“They’re what?” He echoes, head turning to stare in their direction.

Sure enough, a couple of them are already looking at him, and they erupt in a fit of embarrassed giggles when he makes eye contact. His brows knit together.

“I said _don’t_ _look_ , dude! Now they know what we’re talking about, damn it."

“Um,” Akaashi pretends to check his nails so that he isn’t tempted to glance at their table again. “Well, how do I make them stop?”

Hoshi rolls her eyes. “Just go _talk_ to them! They ordered some teas and lemonades a bit ago. You should go deliver those.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” she urges, nudging him in their direction. “Aren’t you supposed to be making new friends anyway? Besides, they might attend your high school.”

The second-year gives up. “I suppose I could,” he mutters, and heads to fetch their drinks.

Steeling his resolve, he strides over, trying his best to look more bored than usual.

“One lemonade and three green teas,” he announces.

The girl closest to him pipes up. “Oh! I had the lemonade. Thank you, um…”

“Akaashi,” he fills in.

A different girl— the one at the end of the booth— has a mischievous look, and it makes Akaashi internally groan. “Hey Akaashi-san, my friend here—” she points to Lemonade Girl— “thinks you’re cute.”

The other two laugh and point out Lemonade Girl’s embarrassed blush. Awkwardly, Akaashi shifts his stance. “That’s, uh... very kind of you. Thanks.”

“Come on, don’t you think she’s cute too? She’s been dying to ask for your number!”

“Yeah, she hasn’t shut up about you since we walked in—”

“—And she’s _very_ single! Are you single? If so, she can _totally_ give you her num—”

The endlessly-chatty group talks over each other in their giddy excitement, and Akaashi’s eyebrow twitches in annoyance.

“Look, I just—” they don’t hear him; or, if they do, they _still_ don’t shut the fuck up, so he raises his tone a bit. “I don’t like girls.”

 _That_ makes them shut up. They all stare at him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. The second-year coughs to fill the sudden silence, hoping no one is observing the conversation.

“...Have a good day. Enjoy your drinks.”

He’s never walked away from a table faster than he does now, nervous sweat building on the back of his neck. Hoshi gives him a quizzical look, but Akaashi pretends not to notice.

The rest of his shift is less stress-inducing. Well, a kid knocks a glass onto the floor and it shatters everywhere, but compared to earlier, Akaashi isn’t bothered in the slightest when he sweeps up the shards.

* * *

Akaashi heaves a deep sigh as he enters his home that night. He begins to unbutton his uniform before he even reaches his room, taking his shoes off on the way there.

“Keiji, is that you?”

The boy in question sighs again. “Yes.”

Rounding the corner, Akaashi halts abruptly when he sees not just his mother, but also his father, sitting expectantly on the couch. Almost as if they were waiting for him, which is _never_ a good sign. He puts his hands behind his back, and his fingers automatically twist together like they have a mind of their own. The sharp feeling of being trapped pulls taut upon his ribcage, and he feels his pulse quicken.

“We need to talk. Put your things down.”

Without breaking eye contact, he sets his uniform coat and shoes on the carpet beside his feet. He feels panic well in his abdomen; a volcano simmering before it bursts. The wave of anxiety is plunged down where it cannot emerge.

His parents exchange a communicative glance before his mother stands, folding her arms across her chest. Her head is tilted up, her glacial, calculating eyes looking past her nose to gaze down towards her son. It’s a gesture that’s supposed to be intimidating, but Akaashi is more than used to it. Its effect is diluted.

“Asuka’s mother called us earlier,” she starts. “Would you like to inform us of the… _situation_ , or must we repeat her words?”

Akaashi blinks, now more confused than he is nervous. “But there’s no ‘situation’, mum.”

“Don’t _talk back_ to me, Keiji,” comes the shrill bark of her voice, and the boy looks away to train his eyes upon a small carpet stain. “Hoshi-san told us about a conversation that she overheard. A conversation between you and some customers. Sound familiar?”

Instantly, Akaashi’s heart sinks to his toes, and his eyes widen a fraction. He shadows his surprise with a slow, lazy blink, and taps his foot calmly to mimic a gesture of thinking (though, truthfully, he’s fidgeting). “...I spoke with many customers today. No conversation really stood out in particular.”

“Oh really?” His father chimes in, pushing off the couch to stand by his wife. “Then why did Hoshi-san tell us that _you_ told a table of girls that you’re a…” he trails off, looking uncomfortable.

“A _homosexual,_ ” his mother finishes, her tone a nasty, biting thing, filled with venom and disgust. The voice enters Akaashi’s ears and slithers through his veins, like a pack of angry snakes. 

He shifts to ease the mounting urge to bolt.

 _Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay. Calm. You didn’t_ explicitly _tell those girls that you’re gay. You can talk your way out of this._

He chants these thoughts to himself as he responds. “A… a _what?_ ” he fakes surprise: blinking and shaking his head to clear the faux shock. “Mother, Hoshi-san must be mistaken; I’d never say such a thing. I believe she... misunderstood, is all. Some girls were trying to get my phone number, and I declined by telling them that ‘I don’t like girls’. All I meant by that was that I don’t like _girls,_ I like _women._ They looked awfully young— barely junior high age, perhaps— so I was trying to tell them that they’re too young for me.”

Akaashi pauses to analyze their reactions: a look of relief on his fathers face, but his mother… her brows are still pinched. Her eyes still search his expression for any hint of a lie. _She’s not convinced._ He has to stretch his story further to make this believable.

“In fact, I… well…” _Make yourself blush, Akaashi!_ The setter thinks of Bokuto’s biceps, his abs, his back— and instantly his face goes hot. _Yep, that did the trick._ “I quite like Hoshi-san’s daughter Asuka.”

The raven turns his eyes back up, and his mum wears a look of genuine surprise— although, not _really,_ because her expressions are rather muted in comparison to those of less emotionally-repressed individuals. But for her, it’s good enough.

“Keiji, what pleasant news. We were so worried you were one of those horribly-confused homosexuals. I suppose we should have had more trust in our parenting, yes? You’re _our_ son, after all, and we’ve raised you just right.” His mother looks proud, which— in any other situation— would have made Akaashi beam with gratification.

But now, it makes his gut ripple with shame. Nonetheless, a fake smile forces its way onto his face to further appeal to their illusion of a perfect child. _If only they knew._

“Perhaps we should plan the wedding now,” his father jokes.

“Why, yes— the Hoshi family will no longer be family-friends, but simply just _family,_ ” his mother places a bony hand on Akaashi’s shoulder. “What a funny thing fate is, isn’t it?”

“It sure _is_ humorous,” he agrees, the shame he feels only growing as seconds tick past. “But I’m only seventeen. Weddings can wait until I’m much older. Plus, I’d like to wait and confess to Hoshi-san on my _own_ time, when I'm ready. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course we do, dear.” His mum gives a nod— probably the closest thing Akaashi would get to a _smile_ from her. “Now run along to your room. I’m sure you have plenty of studying to do.”

Akaashi obeys without a second thought, abandoning his shoes and coat and taking the stairs two steps at a time. When the boy enters his room, he shuts the door with a shaking sigh, body crumpling against it.

“Shit,” he whispers to himself.

Seconds later, the panic of the situation (that he’d shoved down and hidden while in front of his parents) reaches him tenfold. Tears gather and fall before he can stop them.

 _That was too close. Way too close._ They almost found out Akaashi’s most colossal secret. God, he’d rather have to confront them about his frequent anxiety and panic attacks. He’d rather talk to them about literally _anything_ else, no matter how uncomfortable.

 _What would they have done if they found out?_ Completely ignore it and pretend he’s straight? Refuse to let him talk to boys? Place him into therapy? Force him to homeschool? Disown him? Kick him out? _All of the above?_

Thoughts continuing to spiral, his fingers pull at one another with more force than usual. The cracking of his knuckles popping makes Akaashi flinch. Breathing becomes an impossibly tall task, like a desert mountain that he must climb in a wool winter coat.

The room feels too small and empty, and he crowds himself even closer against his door to help create an illusion of increased space. The pressure of the wood against his spine helps ground him, but his lungs still aren’t functioning properly.

 _Fuck._ Looking down, he can see through the blur of tears that his hands are a glaring hue of red. The setter forces himself to stop fidgeting with them, bending his head down in-between his knees and burying blunt fingernails into his nape. 

He is a leaf caught in a storm: a trembling, fragile thing, vulnerable to the wicked whims of the wind.

Akaashi counts. _1, 2, 3... inhale. Hold: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... Exhale: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... Inhale: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... hold... exhale... inhale..._

Eventually his breathing begins to even out, but his chest stutters with each intake of breath. He can’t stop shaking. He can't stop shaking. _He can't stop shaking._ The conversation with his parents might be long over, but Akaashi remains petrified.

The second-year remains curled into a quivering ball for a few more minutes, until a cacophony of insistent buzzes makes him jolt.

Akaashi ignores his phone, but the notifications don’t let up; in fact, they get worse. Aching hands uncurl from their position behind his head and pull the offending object from his pants pocket.

Unsurprisingly, the onslaught of messages are from Bokuto.

_‘Akaaaaashiiiii! are u done w/ work yet???’_

_‘if u are, i have a question’_

_‘are u any good @ triginomatree??’_

_‘triganomitrie’_

_‘trigonomitry’_

_‘triganometre’_

_‘triganometry’_

_‘TRIGONOMETRY’_

_‘omg i think i finally spelled it right’_

_‘why is it so hard to spell???? :(‘_

_‘u aren’t responding, are u still working?’_

_‘if u are, work hard!!! :D but not too hard, we got practice tmrw’_

_‘but when u get off work u gotta help me w/ these stupid hw problems’_

_‘GUESS WHAT’_

_‘okok fine i’ll just tell u’_

_‘my mum picked up some onigiri on her way home from work!!! we’re having onigiri for dinner!!!!’_

_‘if we don’t eat it all maybe i can bring some to u @ lunch tmrw’_

_‘anyway it just made me think of u!’_

Reading his captain’s messages lifts a small weight off of Akaashi’s shoulders. Seeing him struggle with the spelling of ‘trigonometry’ is a good distraction from the tangled thoughts of his brain.

Akaashi hovers his fingers over the keyboard to type a response, but he draws a blank. Does he even _know_ trigonometry? What if his current state of mind causes him to give Bokuto-san the wrong answers? What if he makes him _fail?_ Oh god, then Bokuto will never pass his last year of high school, and then he won’t be able to pursue his dream of playing college volleyball, and _then—_

His phone rings, and he jumps. But it’s only Bokuto-san.

Maybe talking to him will help his anxiety. Bokuto always comes to Akaashi when he’s feeling down, and he _has_ assured the setter multiple times that he can be a listening ear to the second-year’s woes, too.

Sniffing and wiping the last of his tears, he answers the call.

_“Akaashi! Hey hey, I was beginning to think you’d lost your phone or somethin’. You home yet? It’s awfully late.”_

“Yes, I got home almost an hour ago.” Akaashi’s voice comes out much too nasally, and he clears his throat. “I’m, um... I’m sorry for not answering your texts.”

 _“S’okay, don’t worry about it! You never respond right away anyway, so I wasn't expecting ya to.”_ The third-year pauses. _“Are you alright, Akaashi? You sound sad.”_

Damn it, the tears start to leak again. Fruitlessly, he scrubs his eyes and sniffles, embarrassed to be crying in front of his upperclassman. “Fine. I’m fine. I can try to help you with your homewor—”

 _“You don’t sound fine, ‘Kaashi.”_ There’s shuffling on the other end of the line; a door shutting quietly. _“Are you okay? Ya know you can tell me anything. This is a judgement-free zone. Or, not ‘zone’, but... a judgement-free phone call, I guess. Whatever’s upsetting you will be top-secret! Not a single soul will hear about it. Promise._ Pinky _promise, actually. Well, unless the thing that’s makin’ you sad is a person, and then I might have to beat ‘em up, but—”_

“I’m gay.”

Bokuto goes silent. Akaashi’s teeth chew into the skin of his bottom lip.

A few seconds tick by, and there’s no response. Akaashi has no idea if the ace would be comfortable with having a gay friend, or a gay teammate... what if he hates gay people just as much as Akaashi’s parents?

The thought of Bokuto hating him is so repulsive that it makes Akaashi physically nauseous. A hand covers his mouth for good measure as a sob wracks his body. He’s hopeless. _Hopeless._ Why did he tell him? He can deal with losing his parents, but losing his best friend? _That’s..._

“I’m s-sorry. Please ju-ust pretend th-this never happened. I’ll ha-ang up—”

 _“No no no, Akaashi, don’t leave!”_ Bokuto interjects, voice frantic; but it quickly quiets to a concerned whisper. _“Please...? Please don’t leave. I know you wanna run away, but can you stay?”_

The raven wipes his eyes again, his panicked lungs struggling to function. “Okay.”

_“Let me make sure I heard you right. Did... did you say... that you’re gay?”_

A pang of indignity jolts through the setter’s heart. “Yeah,” he whispers, and his voice cracks.

_“Why are you so upset, ‘Kaashi? You know there’s nothin’ wrong with being gay. Wait— did someone say something to you? ‘Cause I swear to god if someone—”_

“Bokuto-san, it’s alright. It’s just... um, well, I haven’t told you much about my parents, have I?”

 _“Nah, you haven’t,”_ his voice is gentle. _“Are they mean, ‘Kaashi?”_

“A little. I... they're what made me so upset earlier. They asked if I was gay, a-and I told them I wasn’t, and they were _so_ relieved to hear that, saying how disgusting it is to be gay, and...” he takes a deep breath, his sore throat struggling to swallow it down. “It really, really hurt.”

 _“Akaashi,”_ Bokuto's voice— so full of emotion— feels like a warm hug around Akaashi’s nerves, cradling the panic until it dissipates to mere anxiety. _“I’m sorry your parents are like that. You don’t deserve that, ya know? They should love you, and support you, a-and— and they should say nice things to you!”_ he pauses, a sad sigh leaving his lips. _“...But they didn’t. I’m sorry, Keiji.”_

 _Keiji._ Bokuto said his first name. He’s never said it before. Hearing it makes a cleansing warmth blossom in Akaashi’s heart, spreading through his bones like calm lava. A wobbly smile lights up the setter’s face; and suddenly he doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.

“Thank you,” The words shake as they leave his mouth, and the spiker squawks in concern. “Thanks for being a good friend, I...”

 _I love you,_ Akaashi’s brain supplies, mentally finishing a sentence that Akaashi himself could never bring himself to complete aloud. _I love you, I love you, I love you._

 _“You don’t have to_ thank _me,”_ the older boy muses, chuckling with embarrassment. _“It’s what friends are for!”_

Akaashi sniffs, a wet laugh accompanying the last few tears trailing down his cheeks. “It sure is.”

They spend the next hour and a half working through Bokuto’s homework, and things feel relatively normal again.

 _There’s just one thing…_ “Bokuto-san?”

_“Yeah, what’s up?”_

“I just wanted to tell you that you don’t have to act any different around me. And you don’t have to treat me differently, either. I’m still… I’m still _me,_ so…”

There’s a tinny laugh from the phone speaker. _“I know, I know! Don’t worry, I won’t. And I won’t tell anyone, either. You have my word!”_

Akaashi smiles a pleasant, toothy grin. “Thanks. If you don’t have any more homework problems, then I should go.”

 _“Yeah,”_ there’s the sound of papers being shuffled around and put away— along with a stray, _“ow, papercut!”_ in the background. _“I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘Kaashi!”_

“See you then,” he agrees. But just before he ends the call, the ace chimes in again.

_“Wait, wait! Before you go, I just wanted to say…”_

_Is this… Is he…?_ Maybe, possibly, _hopefully,_ he’ll say those three words that always seem to stick onto Akaashi’s tongue and hold themselves there, as if terrified by the outcome they’d bring if they were to be spout from the setter’s lips. Three simple, single-syllable words that require so little effort to think of, yet they possess the immensely daunting power to change nearly everything Akaashi knows.

He waits with bated breath.

 _“...I wanted to say thanks for trusting me. I know it’s hard and scary-as-hell to come out to people— or, I guess I don’t know_ personally, _though you know what I mean— but_ you _did it, and you chose to tell_ me, _even though I’m… well, I don’t know, but you_ told me, _which means you trust me, so… thanks. I trust you too, ya know? ‘Cause you’re, like, my favorite person in the whole world.”_

Akaashi’s pulse is like cotton in his ears, and it brings a soothing warmth to his face. Bokuto’s words make a home in his soul, nestling into his ribcage and curling up around his heart. As if they _belong_ there. As if that special phrase was meant _only_ for Akaashi. 

He swears he can feel his heartbeat in every limb, in practically every _crevice_ of his being. 

_You’re my favorite person in the whole world, he’d said._

The setter’s heartbeat carries the compliment through his arteries and down into the farthest extremities of his body. He feels like the embodiment of a spark: aglow and aflight.

Akaashi tries to convey this in his response, but he’s too shell-shocked. “I... am? I’m _your_ favorite person?” The disbelief in his voice is impossible to miss

Bokuto’s hearty laugh ignites that warmth again. _“Not_ just _my favorite person— my favorite person in the whole_ world! _Don’t you forget it.”_

Smiling, Akaashi considers telling him that he wouldn’t be able to forget those words even if he tried. He’ll likely carry them well into adulthood, reminding himself of them when he is low— like a treasured trinket tucked safely inside his coat pocket. A steady, comforting reminder of something (or _someone_ ) important.

He refrains. If he tells Bokuto how much his words had truly meant to him, he might free those which he is not yet ready to let fly.

“I won’t forget,” he assures, his tone lighter than air. “Goodnight, Bokuto-san, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

_“‘Night! I’ll see ya. Bye!”_

Minutes after the call ends, the second-year’s still staring blankly down at the darkened phone screen, replaying the conversation in his mind.

…Akaashi realizes, with unbridled delight, that he’s never ever been someone’s favorite person before. Now, though, he knows that his _own_ favorite person holds him to such a remarkable standard. A standard he never thought he’d achieve.

In time, when his own homework is done, the boy lays beneath his midnight blue comforter and thinks of how fortunate he is.

Akaashi thanks his lucky stars for placing Bokuto within his life, though he knows that the stars cannot control their own kind: for Bokuto is a brilliant being of his own, and he has been since day one.

Perhaps, he is the luckiest star of them all.

_Maybe it's a blessing in disguise (I see myself in you)._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thx for reading! :) pls leave kudos/comments, even if ur comment is just a keysmash. it makes my day.


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